Anything At All
by Arana Is
Summary: Companion fic to Foreigner. A dead mother's perspective on her husband and her kids Seto and Mokuba Kaiba.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Yu-gi-oh.

This is just some drabble that I wrote in a couple of hours, quickly edited, and put up online. Here's a couple of the ideas that I had for Foreigner but never actually ever wrote into the story.

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Dear Seto,

Hi. It's me. Your mother. Laura. I often wonder if you still think of me. Is there a little corner in your heart where I still exist anymore? You're so busy right now that it makes me wonder at times if I'm just an empty, distant memory. I laugh at the selfishness of the demand; how can I be expect to be loved by someone who I abandoned so horribly by my death? How can I expect you to understand what truly happened? How my foolishness and trust in others got the best of me.

I was always too impulsive. I always allowed my emotions to control and rarely thought properly once they held me. I was the spoiled little daughter of the Jones family. Everything went my way. I had tons of friends, could get a boyfriend easily with a flick of my finger, and a loving family who let me get away with about anything. Until I met your father. Marrying your father was the best decision that I ever made. He kept me grounded. I saw humility and a certain eagerness of making something of himself that I never saw in anyone else. I remember he worked so hard during college. Seiji took several part-time jobs as well as studied in the library for hours to maintain his full scholarship. He was quite intelligent, really; he always had one of the highest scores for physics and calculus exams. However, English was a bit of a barrier for him, especially the accent. The most difficult thing for him was to fully understand what the professor said than anything else. Part of me is glad that English was not his forte because that's how I got to know him.

Occasionally, we'd meet up, every now and then. Have a coffee. Go to the dining hall. Study at the library. Our conversations would go on for hours until we realized that it was time to leave for lecture or it was really late. I would correct his accent, attempting to teach him to pronounce his l's and explain what the professor had taught that day. We had other conversations about other things as well, often about our differences that came from our two cultural backgrounds. He openly disagreed with me, finding several of the "American ways" to be odd and strange. I remember when I took him to take his first hot dog at a local vendor. I told him that with enough relish, ketchup, and mustard that it was one of the 'most perfectest foods in the world' with a good beer. As he tried the hot dog, his eyes scrunched in disgust. He tried to hide it, but the utter disappointment in his face was too obvious. It made me quite mad. How dare he dislike hot dogs! It was selfish of me, really. But that was who I am. Or was. I really wanted people to agree with what I had to say and what I had to do. I wasn't used to anything else.

I wasn't instantly attracted to him or anything like that. In fact, at the time I was thinking about dating this blond guy from the medical department. The guy's name was David. He was the type that I usually dated; the guy was very tall, ridiculously handsome, and an absolute jock. David was very charismatic and had these dimples that that made women go crazy. My friends were seriously pushing me towards dating this guy, saying that we'd be perfect for each other and all that jazz. They'd laugh girlishly, sending me towards him when he appeared and insisting that we needed alone time. If we did end up together, we probably would have been seen as the perfect all-American couple. Mom and Dad would have been really happy.

However, it all changed one night. Seto, it was one of the more embarrassing moments of my life. David's fraternity decided to have a party, and, naturally, my friends and I got invited. Surprisingly, Seiji did too. Initially, he had no interest in going as he didn't know David that well, but I forced him to go, telling that it would be fun and retorting that I would never speak to him till the end of time if he didn't come. After several minutes of begging, I convinced him to go. He gave me a small grin, stating that he stood no chance against my puppy-eyes. I laughed haughtily at him, feeling a sense of upper hand power for once. Something that I usually didn't feel when I was with him.

When we were at the party, my friends and I decided to play a little beer pong. It was one of my fortes back in the day. I know that you would never approve of this as you dislike the very notion of socializing, but I was known as 'Laura the Boozer' back in the day. Corny, I know. I was so immature back then, but for some reason I felt that I was something special because I could hold nine shots of vodka easily without throwing up. While my friends and I were playing a little beer pong, I was winning. However, David took over, stating arrogantly that he would win. I laughed and told him that he stood no chance.

He dunked the white plastic ball from the red Dixie cup filled with water and threw it at the other cup at my end of the table. I laughed at him as he missed, and he returned that dimpled smile and took a sip from his cup of beer. Afterwards, however, my luck ran thin, and I was losing miserably. There was nothing that I disliked more than loosing; you can understand that. You have my competitive streak after all. I kept playing and drinking, never pausing to think for a moment that my throwing skills would worsen with each passing sip of alcohol. After awhile David started to worry and told me to stop. It took a few friends to remove me from the table as I threw my hands up in the air and laughed away, telling them that I would be fine. No one needed to save me. I plopped myself down in a corner with a Budweiser beer can in my hand. I took another sip when Seiji stood there, staring at me with those sad dark almond-shaped eyes.

It made me really mad. His eyes seemed almost judgmental to me as they scanned me.

"How many have you had?" Seiji quietly asked.

"Why'd ya need ta know?"

"How many?" His dark eyes looked at me.

"This many." I showed him all of my fingers and chuckled delightfully. "Don't look at me like that. I've had more before." Seiji inspected me for a moment; afterwards, he quickly grabbed my beer can from and chugged it.

"Hey! That's jus' pwain rude." My eyes started to tear for a moment. "I wanted it."

"Isn't it supposed to be part of your silly rules that you don't toss a beer away at a party or something?"

"Only a social idiot like you thwink about doin' somethin' like that," I slurred as I burped loudly. I covered my mouth in disgust. For some reason, I started to cry further. It was so pathetic as you'd probably agree. There was nothing I could do to ever be that charming, happy-go-lucky person in front of him that I was in front of everyone else. He saw my world of meaningless popularity and parties for what it was. Phony.

"Let's take you back." He held me closely to his chest, smelling of the aftershave and fresh deodorant that he used. I buried myself into him, throwing my arms around his thin frame as he weakly held me.

Suddenly, as if the alcohol was catching up to me, I fell down. He grabbed my vaguely conscious form. All I remember was that a warm presence was around my arms. It felt oddly nice to have those tanned arms around my waist as he held me and my red cotton dress. The next thing I know was I smelled of utterly putrid vomit and was throwing up in front of a toilet. His almond-shaped eyes demonstrated fear, but he calmly talked to me, encouraging me to throw up into the dingy toilet. When I turned again, I vomited one final time, but it was onto his shirt. He never screamed at me as I expected him to. He just took me to my dorm, made sure I was okay, and left. That's the kind of guy that he was. Your father was a good man, Seto.

When I started to date Seiji, my friends scoffed me, betting among themselves that it wouldn't last a month. When I got engaged to him, I laughed at them in their faces, daring them to repeat those words. They grudgingly agreed that he was permanent, but they couldn't help but wonder why him. I could have married a richer, more handsome, more charming man. Why him?

I see you in him. Not everything, but there were small things about him that were in you. When you were younger, about six at the time, you were playing catch in the field with a neighborhood kid. The kid ended up throwing a baseball into a neighbor's house and broke the glass of the window. The infamous cat lady of our street who hated children beyond anything. When the two of you went to retrieve the ball, the woman accosted you. She grabbed you by your arms and asked whose fault it was. You answered that you had thrown the ball. You took the punishment, despite the fact that it was not your fault. I remember paying the woman for the glass and proceeded to ask you why you did it. Then again, you could never hide such things from me. You used to have such an innocent and honest face. You remarked that the neighborhood kid's father had already punished him by grounding him for something else. You didn't want the other kid to get in further trouble. I nearly cried when I hugged you, telling you that did not need to do such a thing.

One time you fell down and cuffed you knee during soccer practice. You didn't cry as most kids would, even though it was obvious that you were in a lot of pain. You just stood there as I placed the rubbing alcohol pad, wincing in pain. I put a bandage on you knee, the dragon-patterned one that you always liked, and kissed your knee. You returned me a small smile, and everything was better.

Would it help? Would it help if I kissed you? If I held you like I used to and gave you a big hug? It's useless; I know. You would scoff me away now for suggesting such nonsense, but I don't know what else I could do. I don't know how to make things better. When you were little, all I needed to do was make a silly face or tickle you in your belly button, and you would roar in laughter, begging me to stop. Now, I doubt such tactics would solve anything. I barely know who you are anymore. I sometimes wonder if I talked to you as you are right now if you would push me away. Push me away like everyone else except for Mokuba.

Mokuba. My little one. I didn't even get to know your name. I just saw you for a few moments, and all I wanted to do was hold you. I instantly loved you. You were just so sweet, even though you were crying so terribly. I didn't care. It was a selfish desire of mine to hold you. Only I could know how to make you feel better. Only I could know how to make you smile again and not cry. Not even Seiji knew. Only me. I never wanted to die. I never wanted to give up. Not then. Not ever. Even if I was the biggest possible shock of my life, I never wanted to leave you. I hate myself for being so weak. I hate myself for being so emotional and impulsive. If I didn't get into that car. If I didn't confront him. If I just paused for a moment and thought. Would I be standing right next to you now? Could I have protected you?

I watch you now as you bury yourself in work, Seto. I watch you as you scornfully tell your secretary that the files are incorrect. You are not looking for me or searching for me at all. You would probably rather have your machines than me. You bury yourself in computers and virtual reality that won't hurt you as the world has. They're safer; they don't expect anything back. You type away relentlessly in front of your laptop, coming up with the latest gaming technology. I proudly look at you for your brilliance, smiling at your ingenuity. I fondly look at you as you give a rare small smile to your brother Mokuba; I'm glad that he was there for you where I could no longer be. At least someone in the world cares.

If I knew. If Seiji knew. If we could change the past. If we could have made certain decisions in our lives. Maybe if I didn't trust the wrong people. Maybe I should have killed Gozaburo when I had the chance. I wouldn't mind shooting someone for you. I wouldn't mind killing the man who took away my son's happiness.

Then I realize something. It breaks my heart as I think of it.

I failed you as a mother.


End file.
